Gray, pregnant clouds jostled for position overhead, as Kyrian and Adan ascended and descended the craggy hills north and west of Jantir’s steamy harbors. It had been five days since they had left the city proper, and two days since the pair left behind the backwater of Syree’s Well, where they had helped a local barkeep with his beast-weed problem* at the behest of Halnoli the half-elven mage, and in return received lodgings and ample rations from the appreciative proprietor, one Lothon of the Once-Proud Goose.

The two were now nearing the bawn of a vast forested land, the edges of those dark, gloomy domains which the Hellschwerts and Von Hellens called their own. These ancient, baronial castles and estates, had been given after the Last War to the nobles of the First Empire, long before the city of Jantir would appear on any maps. Ancient lands these were, full of dark secrets and bloody betrayals.

A sense of quiet, familiar gloom overtook Adan as he glanced at the gnarled oaks and silver elms around him, while Kyrian seemed likewise lost in thought, and only the patter-and-click of Herald’s hooves and the occasional call of a south-bound loon overhead, could be heard.

A gentle noise from Herald made Kyrian look up at his mount, as he walked along-side the prized stallion. The horse suddenly seemed reluctant to continue, though no obvious disturbance could be ascertained by the two adventurers.

Just ahead of them lay an old road, a path men once called Theubold’s Trail, which snaked through the deep woods and bogs for miles, eventually emerging on the border of the Hellschwerts Lands proper.

It was the Hour of the Lady, almost dusk, and all was quiet around them.

At that moment the two spotted the body of a figure, curdled in a fetal position on the ground, beside some irregular boulders. The man lying before them was obviously dead.

The two examined the body, and quickly determined that no physical wound could be seen on the flesh. A look of dread in the man’s still open eyes hinted at a more sinister end, and another oddity—the man’s ears were plugged with some kind of wax-like substance. A simple dagger in one clutched hand, and a curled up scroll, devoid of any writing, lay beside the figure.

*slaughtering several ravenous, weed-maddened boars and bears in thre process.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Poor soul" Kyrian closed the man's wide-open frightened eyes, and examined the dagger and scroll he bore. "It appears as if he went to confront something, determined yet far outmatched. And the wax - is if he meant to ward himself against a siren, banshee or xantippean shrew; a spell he most likely cast from the parchment, to no avail. Be on your guard, Adan, this night may be far from over."

He stood up, flicked a stray strand of hair from his face, and gave the woods a piercing gaze; the shadows and curling mist seemed to stare back at him, with fetid malice.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Kneeling to bless the flesh of the fallen man, Adan's hand drifted down to touch him at the neck, at the shoulders, and thrice on the sternum, in the star of Trigu, before he spoke in the ancient tongue of the church, a blessing for the fallen. '"Requiem aeternam dona ei, Trigu, et perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace. Trigu, eleison."

As his hand came up from the clammy flesh, taking in the wax, the dagger, and the scroll, Adan frowned, straightening entirely. "You're right. This stinks of magic." Looking down, the once-paladin, once-guardsman nudges the body with his toe. "Warded against sound, but he still got taken. The question, then, must become: Did what he ward against catch him, and defeat him despite his precautions, or was it another? In any case, it had not interest in his flesh, which is disturbing. A natural beast would have been attempting to defend itself or sate it's hunger, and there would be injuries."

For a moment, he presses his lips together, a brief prayer to his Lord and Master drifting through his mind. "We have some courses before us, friend. It will be luck to build even a cairn for him, in this wood, though something must be done. There are rumors of the Banshee, and here..." Adan swallows deeply, the shot of fear that shivers down his spine quelled forcefully, though consciously. "Here we begin to approach the area that yet may be the demense of my nemesis. Its end, even should it cost me my life, is everything. I cannot permit anything else to kill me before I destroy it. We are far, however, from the stronghold of the Holy Swordswoman, and her power in these swamps is not impressive. Prudence, then, speaks that we should retreat some miles, and await the coming of the sun. Valor dictates that we should hunt and destroy his killer. What think you, Kyrian?"

"We are only worth as much as what we bring into the world, I say, and receding at the sight of danger will not add to our value, neither to valor. Though I will make one concession to prudence: foolishly dying to no benefit would keep us from any further heroics, with a great degree of certainty. I say, let our caution be profound, and once we know more, the time of decision between a course palatable to bards and a tactical withdrawal will come."

He did not shout a challenge to the woods, nor strike a pose, but relaxed instead, letting his sight wander over the surroundings, his ears catch the whisperings of the bods, the scent flow freely through his nose; then, there was the sixth sense native to all felines, and it stirred in this place. Emptying his mind of thought, Kyrian let it unfold and roam free, his whiskers twitching.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

With a grim nod, Adan lit tinder, setting flame to the coals within the small firebox he had acquired. Hidden, with only a trickle of air, they would burn cool but long, enough, he hoped, to carry thrugh the night, enough to hasten the lighting of one of the oil-soaked torches, should it prove to be needed. Enough, too, to slice and soften a tallow candle and cloth, enough to make plugs for the ears alike to the slain wizards, and to offer the same to the feline knight that was his companion.

With a deep breath, he drew his awareness back inwards, to the tiny light of the Lord that he had felt as he had spoken with the bishop, though it had been so long ago. Once, his Lord had let him feel the malevolance, the darkness that blotted at the holy light, yet the darkness that had once grown within had swallowed all that light from his eyes. It would have served well as warning. But now, he could only grasp that light within, and trust in his Lord. This was the right way of things. Trust in Trigu, and ask nothing of Him, but permit him to use you.

Prepared now, Adan frowned at the corpse, before picking up a few, fist sized stones, looking at the other questioningly. Did they have the time to build a caern?

Building a cairn for the dead stranger did not take long, as the raw materials, rocks as it were, littered the forest's edge in abundance.

Both men were silent now, and Kyrian was still peering into the woods when Adan rose with a sigh to stretch his creaky knees. The Triguan now held aloft a firebox, its wan light casting flickering shadows. It was not yet dark, but night was drawing ever nearer.

Kyrian sensed no unusual scents from the forest. No sound came now. Animal noises one took for granted--the chirp of a cricket, the low call of the nightjar waking, the scurrying of a squirrel from branch to branch, could not be heard. Yet Kyrian's superior senses could feel a presence--something. Something malevolent, cold, and wanton.

His concentration was interrupted once more by Herald, who now stomped his hooves nervously upon the damp earth, and looked to Kyrian for reassurance. Herald had sensed the same presence as his rider.

She came silently upon the evening breeze, a nigh-invisible silhouette of death against a gray-streaked canvas. Sensing warm ones near, she moved faster now, driven by an unquenchable rage for the living. Drawing closer, she at last spied her marks, two men and a mount.

She despised the four-legged beasts. They usually sensed her approach long before their riders, and were too fast in their escapes, for even her grave-given celerity.

A cold white light burned deep within her at that moment as she recognized one of the figures in the clearing. No, not a man at all. Her hour of salvation was at hand.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

A figure sits slumped in a high-backed velvet chair festooned with carved ravens, facing a granite fireplace. He slowly reaches down and gently places his hand directly into the low, green flames. As the fire licks the flesh of his hand, the man smiles wanly but betrays no pain or discomfort. A child enters the vast hall and approaches the figure. “My cousin comes, young one”, the man says softly, jostling the youth’s sandy locks. “He comes with cats and doppelgangers, but he comes. And when he arrives, we will begin.”

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

With an almost melodic note, he freed his sword from its resting place, and laid his left hand upon Herald to calm him. "I know, friend trusty, it is here - but it's not us who should be scared."

He scanned the forest's shadows for a telltale sign of yon eerie presence; then, tired of waiting, he brazenly bared his teeth and green fire flickered in his eyes. "Show yourself, beast, for I wish to lay thee to rest, enchant with a steel lullaby and a luxurious cairn!"

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

With a single gesture, Adan plunged his oiled torch into the fire box, planting it into the ground with shortly after. Fire, he suspected, would be of value, should the foe prove to be one of the exmortui, as he expected.

With a second motion, the brief blade he carried was freed from it's sheath - The Great Bow he had fashioned of his stave would be of little consequence here, he expected. And then, rather than boasting or taunting, his voice arose in hymnal, as Kyrian's died from its threat.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Beast?" an angry voice, an otherwordly voice, yet somehow familiar. "You call me BEAST? You who are beast yourself?" The voice came from everywhere and nowhere.

Then silence once more, as the shadows danced along the edges of the trees from Adan's impromptu firebox.

Again a voice, now softer and sibilant, from somewhere in the trees.

“Kyrian, my brave and honorable knight, do you not recognize the presence of your charge? It is I, Swanhild of Lowangen, the one you could not save. Will you save me now? Will you give your life for mine? I am so cold and so lonley.”

“I have waited a long time. Do not make me wait any longer.”

“I need your help, Kyrian. Will you abandon me a second time?”

The voice began to grow louder now--shriller.

Peering intently, neither Kyrian nor Adan could find the voice's source. Herald was now quite agitated and urged Kyrian with his wet nose to mount and ride.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Only barely able to hear the sound of the voice through the thick plugs of tallow in his ears, there is little that Adan can do except shift his stance slightly, as his eyes continue to shift through the woods. Still, he can tell that there is at least some form of parley, though from the behavior of the horse, it is still with a dread creature. Once again, his lips form the verses of the hymnals, though now his voice is silent, even as he mouths the same song that he had once sung to a band of Verbeeg.

Yet, he concentrated hard, clearing his mind and trying his best to remember the light of the Lord Trigu that was once in him, to let the darkness without make itself known, at least in direction.

(Edit, OOC: Yes, I'm trying to Detect Evil. No, I don't expect it to work OOCly. ICly, the light of hope always shines.)

It was then he recognized the moonlit glade, though it was bathed in torchlight and blood as he strode through it the last time; likewise, it became clear as day who the haunt was. Silently, he laid his hand upon Adan's shoulder."I witnessed yon fateful day...."

But a short journey through these woods it was that would carry Swanhild to Aalya's white spire, where the Windchanters raised their voices in honor of the eternal voyager, highest muse and zephyr dancer; to become one of them she was.But few and meek were the bandits that dared to charge their entourage, though the knights were a pair, and so were the squires, one of them of Swanhild's blood. An one-sided slaughter later, the brigands were headed for the woods again, only - one of them had made off with a thing precious.

"Have you ever felt the heat of the hunt, Adan? Fire running through your veins, and the moon's light a siren call, the scent of fear and blood flooding your nostrils? I had to give chase..." That he wished to endear himself and his bravado demanded no less, that he left unvoiced.

As from a tale, he had returned triumphant, bearing a bandit's scalp and his bounty - yet he found himself in a darker narrative, for amongst the corpses of the second brigand band lay strewn those of the squires, solely sir Berengar stood, besieged. There, under the elder oak, there was the cairn of highwayman heads he had raised, but it was but a gesture of defiance and wrath; Swanhild lay dead; though she was his charge and thus forbidden, he had loved her from afar, with the pasion of a thousand suns. Then, she was gone - all for the sake of a...

"Come forth Swanhild, please." From his saddlebag, he fished a piece of waxed cloth, and from it, a fabric silken, light and tranparent, as if not of this world, of the purest white. "I still hold your scarf, I brought it back, my lady."

« Last Edit: February 24, 2010, 05:16:51 PM by EchoMirage »

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Appearing now for the first time, Swanhild of Lowangen, the one-time priestess of Aayla the Wind, hovered a mere foot from the ground, forty yards away from Kyrian and Adan, down Theubold’s Path.

If she was once beautiful, only Kyrian could say, for now all semblance of her elven heritage was gone, in its place, a wicked, skeletal visage, angular and fierce, stark-white orbs for eyes, and gossamer threads, undulating on the evening breeze like asps, where luxurious, golden locks once shone.

She floated toward the pair, though floated was a poor choice of word for her unnatural speed. Where fine linen and silken robes once clung to voluptuous curves, now mummy-like shreds and tatters fluttered on the wind, clinging to a corporeal mass of questionable composition, and certainly no flesh or bone.

“My scarf, dear knight. You kept it all this time. Was it to remind you of me?”“Come then, wrap the scarf around me” she almost cooed now, as she neared Kyrian.

“Let us embrace, as we could not when I was yet among the living. And all wrongs will be forgiven.”

With that, she opened wide her spindly arms, and grinned the grin of the dead.

She was upon them now, and Adan felt the bile well up inside him, as the nearly unbearable stench of undeath assaulted his nostrils. Herald reared in defiance tinged with fear, but held his ground. The Banshee ignored both Herald and Adan. She only had eyes for her knight.

<OOC> You’re free to act or attack. If you attack, we’ll roll initiative. Kyrian is also free to hug her if he wants </OOC>

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Was there anything of Swanhild left? How come she had wandered back there, from consecrated soil where they had buried her? What would make her cease her haunt? Conundrums, one more relevant than the other.

Without threat, he stepped towards her desiccated frame, the green flame of his eyes meeting the chill white of hers. Unwavering, he advanced towards the haunt, the freezing wind that had picked up from nowhere running through his mane. In his arms, he held but the scarf, the very one she was supposed to wear upon becoming one of the priesthood in full, woven of moonlight, gossamer and captured wind.

Tender, yet determined, he laid the scarf around the skeletal shoulders. "May Luna's goodwill keep thee" he spoke as he took her bony head and kissed her upon the brow, with salubrious energy flowing from his hands.

(OOC: I cast Protection from Evil - on >her<...)

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

To Kyrian's query, the other knight does not respond, at least not at the moment. Had he ever...? Well, not such a hunt, perhaps, as the feline made suggestion at. But then, there was the other. Even now, focused as he was upon his prayers and upon the situation at hand, his strike ready, but held, he felt that absence, a phantom limb despite the wholeness of his body. It would be for later, perhaps, to try to let Kyrian understand, though it would likely be pointless.

Before the bile rises in his throat, Adan's shield arm dips to the phial of holy water he had managed to obtain from the bishop, his body tense. There is little he can do here except pray, and give his companion the chance to send this thing to the world beyond the non-violent way. "Sancta Alis, custos nos..." he murmured, before adding for good measure, "Gwyn, komme ich nach Heim, ein Weise oder ein anders." One way, or another, this thing would be done tonight, here. His crystal blue eyes focused upon the scene before him, waiting for the slightest sign of wilting from Kyrian.

All was silent as Kyrian gently, nay lovingly, kissed the apparition's brow. It felt like kissing frozen stone. As he held the former priestess, her scarf now wrapped about her wispy form, Adan looked upon the embrace with great unease.

Silence.

Kyrian felt as if a thousand needles of ice were stabbing his organs as he touched his former love, yet he held firm, remained nearly still, and began to work his magic without sound, even as his mind seemed to numb. Swanhild now suddenly retreated a few yards, tearing herself away form the knight's embrace. Whether or not Kyrian's spell had any effect or not, no one could be sure, least of all Kyrian.

The Banshee seemed to hover in confusion for a moment, her swirling, transparent, scarf only adding to her grotesque and hideous appearence.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

At first Kadarin merely felt a jolt then a blunt impact, and some pain, but nothing unbearable, and more importantly nothing seemed to be broken. He remained motionless for a moment, simply staring at his surroundings, still in considerable shock.

It appeared that he had landed with a thud, in a rather large, heretofore undisturbed patch of Lamb's Ear.

A moment later another thud, but this one to his head, and rather sharp and painful, sent stars spinning in Kadarin's brain. It took several seconds for the mage to realize that Mouse (thank the gods he was so small!) had also landed in the same thicket, but a few seconds later, and with his foot catching Kadarin squarely in the forehead.

There they lay side by side staring at each other in confusion, when Kadarin spotted another figure. This figure was not as lucky as Kadarin and Mouse had been.

The wizard's body-guard was impaled upon a pine tree, approximately ten feet off the ground. It seemed that every limb (and neck) was pierced by a lance-like branch. He looked like a macabre string-puppet, a thrall to the great pine that embraced him. Blood stained the tree, and trickled down lazily, slowed as it was by the pine's oozing sap.

As Kadarin stared upon this tragedy, still trying to get his own bearings, he wished he had never experimented with that purchased potion, his latest spell, and the [Talon Trails] item. This was all surreal. Moments ago, he had been in his innroom, telling Mouse to carefully add the nightshade powder to the mixture. Now, he was in some eerily silent, forest. It was cold and getting dark quickly.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Dujeck's talents would be best applied here, " said Kadarin as he looked at his former bodyguard.

"I wonder where we are? I would not have anticipated this outcome, much less that it would be tremendously far."

Kadarin spared mouse the chore of salvage, and went over to poor Delsordo. Not the finest specimen of humanity, but he didn't deserve this.

In any case, Kadarin looked at how to get him down from his perch, looking like the victim of some immense shrike.

"Can you find an area of soft earth to bury poor Delsordo? Can't leave him up here for the crows." Kadarin looked about for Delsordo's sword - it may serve to sever the branch that held up the unfortunate henchman.

Swanhild hovered for several long agonizing moments then finally they could hear her voice.

“I remember now. When the bandits attacked, you—“ her voice sounded less like that of an apparition and more like that of a woman now, unless that was just some trick she played on one’s ears, Adan was not sure.

“You gave chase to return me *this* she continued fingering her scarf, “My honorable knight”

“I—I was raped, and my brother---another long pause—those foul animals burned him ALIVE!”

As her voice rose anew, Adan tensed slightly, but Kyrian remained unafraid, listening to his former muse speak, and looking intently into those stark-white pools she had for eyes, with patience and without contempt.

Was this the work of Kyrian’s magic? Neither man could be sure.

“I know now, why the Wind Mistress saw fit to return me from my grave as the monster you see before you. It was to take revenge, sweet revenge. But I could not scour the world searching for these pigs. Only so far I can come from my grave-site. To the edge of Theubold’s Path, and no further. It was not all that far from here, where they—they…”

“And now, Aayla has brought you to me. You have not betrayed me, you have returned, as loyal to honor and duty as ever. I onced loved you Kyrian. But no longer can I feel---anything. Except Hate.”

Another excruciating pause, as Swanhild rose off the ground, and higher into the evening air.

“FIND them Kyrian! Find every last one of those filthy animals! Send them my regards, as you cut them down! And maybe then the Wind Mistress will release me from this state, and I can sail upon the winds with Her again!”

“Take my revenge for me, and for my brother, and for your own men! Do what I cannot!”

With that she suddenly began retreating into the forest, facing Kyrian, as dead leaves swirled around her form. She moved slowly now, savoring the cat-knight’s face, as if drinking it into her own form.

Adan was taken aback. He was not sure what was happening here. The Banshee’s words made no sense without context. Truth be told, not much seemed to make sense to the former paladin, as he silently witnessed this bizarre exchange. He was not sure how long ago this tragedy had coccured, but finding random bandits? No these were the words of a mad-spirit. More surprising still was that the Banshee did not keen, did not let out that infamous HOWL creatures of her ilk were known for, nor did she attack.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Several hours later, it was already dark, just as Kadarin and Mouse finished burying Delsordo. The forest began to buzz with a cacophany of night-noises. It was cold now, cold enough to make Mouse chatter his teeth, as he stared at Kadarin for direction. The pair were both dressed lightly, and had no provisions to speak of...

All around them was deep, primal forest, though before night came fully, Kadarin could spy a path, not far from where Mouse and him landed unceremoniously.

A wolf's howl sounded suddenly, long, haunting and drawn out.

As Mouse shivered, Kadarin was about to say something, when he could suddenly hear familair sounds from the path, not animal sounds this time, but the speech of men. He could see flickering torch-light in the gloom. It seemed travellers were makng their way down the forest path.

Perhaps if they still had been digging, whoever walked the path would hear them as well. But as it was, Kadarin and Mouse merely stood silently, and heard the men before they were heard in turn. Very little could be seen in the dark.

Why would anyone travel a forest by night, Mouse thought, as he again looked to Kadarin for direction.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Well, Kyrian. Though Adan continued to hold the phial, he slid his his blade back into the sheath. Perhaps there were many things that he did not understand here. But he heard the plea of the spirit, and he knew that it was a knight being given a task. It would be up to the other to accept or deny the task from the ex-maiden, but these were the borders of his ancestral lands. It would be his duty to assist, if for no other reason then to clear them of the dangerous banshee's presence. Perhaps, however, she could be persuaded to wait more patiently and less fatally, though that would also have to wait until Kyrian had made his decisions.

To her retreating frame, he bowed, then returned his gaze to her. "You never left my custody, Swanhild, and my oath binds me, to do as you ask; but I would promise likewise none-the-less, for your sake. You shall find peace amongst the clouds, free to return once the wheel has turned, to a new life, unblemished. And if the gods will so, we shall meet once more."

They stood still for what seemed to be ages, whipped by a sudden chill wind, the scintillating stars igniting a determined fire in his eyes. He knelt in silence, bowed to her, then stood, and turned to the other knight."What has been done cannot be unmade, but it can be remedied. Come, Adan. We both have shadows to hunt, within and without, and the sooner we water this land with blood it lusted for so long, the less wrongs will grow from it."

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

"These lands have felt the touch of the sanguine rain for centuries, Kyrian. Sometimes, I think that this is all that it knows to drink from. But, our duties call us indeed. Let us be on our way to execute them." Shaking his head with the sorrow of the land, the Hellschwert knight gathered up his firebox and torch, looking to Kyrian a moment.

"I see no injuries, at least none of the sort that I can treat. There are fortifying brews, but that shall wait until make camp. Let us be on the way - I am anxious to meet with my sister and father." One of which the knight looked forwards to in joy, the other in dread. To that end, one boot after another lifted and fell.